


Sun's Denied Path

by NervousOtaku



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: As in the Aztec Empire is still sick from Spain introducing him to new diseases, Aztec Empire, Modern Era, Original Ancient Empire, Some Swearing, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-31 10:27:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12680025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NervousOtaku/pseuds/NervousOtaku
Summary: Xitli was rather upset when he found out that as long as humans remembered him, he'd continue to live. But he decided that as long as he was alive still, he'd live life out.Then the guy who was responsible for 'killing' him shows up.





	Sun's Denied Path

**Author's Note:**

> My friend recently got me into Hetalia. SHE HAS CORRUPTED MEEEEEE!!!  
> So I don't explicitly state it, but Xitli is supposed to be the Ancient Aztec Empire. I would personally say that he doesn't really consider himself the Aztec Empire anymore, which would contribute to that. He keeps a dog, like some Aztec warriors did, to protect his soul and guide it through the afterlife, and works as a courier. Since I subscribe to the idea that countries will stick around as long as people remember them, Xitli survives thanks to how popular Aztec/Mayan/Inca culture is. He doesn't appreciate it, and would like very much to be forgotten so he can be reincarnated. When he was younger and still in power, he apparently practiced magic.

Xitli huffed in mild annoyance as he hefted his bag up onto his shoulder.

Life was so _annoying_.

Death had been promised, and when that snotty little brat had killed him, he had been waiting to be reborn.

But no.

Feeling the familiar scratching at the back of his throat well up again, he turned his head into his free shoulder and coughed. Something came out, and he couldn’t tell if it was blood or phlegm. Maybe it was both.

Finding out from that old coot Rome that they would be around until people forgot about them… it was truly frustrating. Xitli still wanted to know _why_ that old European bastard had come around to poke at him. The pale one that had appeared to drag him away seemed nice enough, someone he might get along with. But…

Xitli shook his head, continuing to walk.

It was truly hot out today, so he was going shirtless. It wasn’t a problem, even in this strict, up-tight, stick-up-the-ass modern culture. He was male and in a hot environment in a ‘developing country.’ Not that it would have been a problem in his empire. It would have been encouraged, to show off the scars marring his torso and arms, to expose the marks that made him a warrior. Even if he hadn’t been a warrior, it would have revealed his masculinity and strength.

Ugh. These modern people…

He coughed again. Something was probably soaking through the mask by now, so he paused, setting the bag down. He placed one foot gently on top of it to make sure no passersby got any funny ideas, and removed the cloth from his face.

Yeah, phlegm and blood mixed in the little sling created, making him crinkle his nose in distaste. He’d have to buy more medicine. That meant working more hours in order to afford paying rent, bills, and getting food. That he was fine with, honestly, it kept him busy until people forgot. It was just annoying how he had to keep drugging himself.

There was no other way to describe it.

He threw the old mask into the nearby alley and reached into the pocket of his jacket, which was tied around his waist. His fingers slipped against slick plastic for a moment, but then he managed to pull a fresh mask out from the little bag.

It wasn’t like he was infectious. He just didn’t want to risk someone else infecting him again, and it was undignified to be spitting up blood and snot all the time.

It made cleaning his labret a real thrill every night. And it was frustrating to have to hide that, as well. Even if these modern people had no idea what it symbolized. That it was a mark of his passing into adulthood, becoming a man and a warrior, just like his tattoos and the brands on his wrists.

Humans.

With the new mask in place, he stooped down to pick up the bag. A pained groan left him as he jostled his bad shoulder.

Of course that stupid brat would be sloppy in his execution. Stupid, spoiled, snotty European brat. He hadn’t trusted that little shit as far as he could throw him-- which was pretty far-- but the emperor had let them in. Of course.

Rolling both shoulders to restore what little alignment and feeling he could, Xitli straightened up and kept walking. He had to deliver this package to a location in the desert by sundown, or he’d have no pay tonight. So he needed to get to his truck and get out there, quickly. Zol was probably getting impatient and wanted his treat for keeping watch over the vehicle, too.

He was almost to the lot where he’d parked the beat-up vehicle when he heard a sickeningly familiar voice yell his name.

“Xitli! Hey! Xitli! Wait up!”

Clenching his jaw, he lengthened his stride, trying to pretend he hadn’t heard. He was getting old, and couldn’t exactly run, and there wasn’t really anywhere to hide…

As if on cue, the olive-skinned man skidded to a halt in front of him.

“I knew it was you!” Spain grinned broadly.

“... Hrm.”

“I thought I saw you the other day, in the city, and so I asked around! Do you really live around here, Xitli?” the younger country asked, turning to follow as he stepped around the pest.

“What difference does it make where I live, brat.” he replied.

“Heh, you always were a kinda stubborn guy, huh? How’ve you been?”

He wanted nothing more than to smash the snotty brat’s face into the cobbles. But that would take time and hurt his shoulder more.

“Don’t you have a country to run?” Xitli hissed instead, putting as much ice as he could into his voice. Unfortunately, hissing had aggravated his throat, and he had to lift his free hand to his chest as he coughed. The fit lasted longer than the previous ones, forcing him to stop and bend over a bit.

“That doesn’t sound good, amigo. You should get that checked out.” Antonio frowned with wide eyes, reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder.

He kicked the brat in the shin, managing to growl out, “You’re the one who infected me, you shit.”

“What?! No way, you’re saying I made you sick?!”

Just like this guy, to not remember…

“I don’t have time for you.” he said bluntly, trying to take as long of steps as he could to get away from Spain. He could see the rust-covered red of his truck from here, he was almost there. Maybe he could run the bastard over with it.

“Whaaat? Why not?”

“I’m working, you moron. Since I’m not dead, I need to live, don’t I?” he shot back, ready to give in and acquaint the cobblestones with the guy. Not like he didn’t _deserve_ it. And it would be well-earned, if you asked Xitli. This guy had tried-- and in theory succeeded in doing so-- to kill him. He might be old and not even half his former strength, but he could still give the bastard some bruises.

“Working? Why don’t you just travel? Since you aren’t bound by your borders, diplomacy, or a boss anymore?”

“Maybe I _like_ Mexico.”

“Hmm… Oh! Could it be that you’re scared?”

He halted, turning to glare at the guy. A huge, shit-eating grin and the most innocent eyes possible answered him. Not that this guy was innocent. Anything but. Xitli could remember the day they came, the day he came, and it was the day he cursed the most. The damn Spaniards.  


“I am _not_ scared. I’m tired and old and would like if people forgot about me already so I could be reborn.”

For a minute, it seemed like that had gotten him to back off, because Xitli was almost to his truck and Spain hadn’t said a word. Didn’t seem to be following him either. Zol noticed him and began to yip, bouncing up and down in the bed of the truck. He gave the xoloitzcuintlis a pat on the head as he tossed the bag into the bed as well. Digging into his pocket, he produced a piece of jerky for the canine. This quieted his companion until something set the thing off, barking up a storm.

“Reborn? What’re you talking about with that?”

He banged his head against the hot metal of the vehicle as Zol sniffed at the newcomer.

“Was it something to do with all those sacrifices your people performed? I never really understood why you had to kill so many people in such brutal ways, Xitli. It was kinda weird, and pointless.”

“... I wouldn’t expect… an uncouth _barbarian_ like yourself… to understand the complexities of our religion and the ceremonies required to appease the gods…” he grit out, digging the keys to the truck out of his jacket-pocket and unlocking the door.

“But Xitli, there are still people who practice your religion today and they don’t have to sacrifice babies to call the rain or anything like that.”

“Then they do not truly practice Nahuatl faith.” Xitli growled. That would explain why people didn’t seem to forget. It might also have something to do with his cramps and migraines, because those were new, only started in the past few decades. _Damn_ , would he have to go on a human headhunt or something…?

“Oh, by the way!” Antonio declared, still grinning like an idiot as he climbed into his truck and shut the door. “If you really need work, you can come over to my place, amigo! I’m sure we could find a job for you there!”

The utter revulsion he felt at that statement sent him into another coughing fit. More phlegm and blood in the mask. And he’d just changed it, dammit.

Much to his dismay, Spain reached in through the window to pat his back until he recovered. He gave a weak growl, swatting the guy away. Zol seemed to catch on, running around the bed in circles and snarling.

“Well, I hope you get better, Xitli! And come see me about work, okay? There’s so much to catch up on!” his nemesis smiled, waving as he finally left.

Xitli glared out the window at the retreating form. Once the guy was gone, he finally put the key in the ignition.

“... Zol, do you think I have enough magic left in me to hex him when we get home?” he asked over the engine’s sorry sputtering.

His dog whined.

“No, I suppose not. But a man can dream.”


End file.
